


Portrait of the Rival as a Young Man

by oceaxe



Series: Portrait [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 09:04:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7095745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceaxe/pseuds/oceaxe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Harry goes to Dean's art opening, he doesn't expect to like what he sees <i>quite</i> so much. And he certainly doesn't expect to get caught.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Portrait of the Rival as a Young Man

Harry scoped out the paintings and the patrons as he sipped his drink. Dean's openings were always enjoyable affairs, and he usually ended up bringing a nice piece home. He wandered up to one and then another painting, nodding his head at the direction Dean was taking his work. He had always preferred a realistic, Muggle style, but it seemed he was starting to incorporate the slightest touch of wizarding artistry. Probably charmed so Muggles couldn't see it, of course, but intriguing all the same.

Rounding the corner to the second room of the gallery, Harry took in a gaggle of people surrounding what looked to be a huge canvas. They were conferring in hushed tones - obviously this work was going to be in demand, there might even be a bidding war. Good for Dean.

The crowd shuffled off, one or two patrons looking like they meant business. Harry followed them with his eyes, then swiveled his gaze to take in the object of all this hubbub. 

He was entirely unprepared for the sight that greeted him. Draco Sodding Malfoy, naked as the day he was born, reclined on a silk-draped divan, smirking over his shoulder as his bare arse practically glowed, rounded and firm and begging for all manner of obscenities to be perpetrated upon it. 

One word drifted across the barren wasteland of Harry's mind: _odalisque._ A thought rose up to join it. _Bidding war be damned, this thing is mine._

His gaze swept over Malfoy's languid limbs, gently muscled and sheathed in flawless milk-pale skin that looked as though it would be softer to the touch than a baby's. The wizarding effects were extremely subtle in this one, but Harry noticed how Malfoy's demeanor shifted imperceptibly through almost somnolent to demure to flirtatious to smouldering, and then to something that looked very much like a challenge. 

A miasma of sensuality emanated from the painting, unlike anything Harry had experienced. He was nearly certain it wasn't just his subjective response to the model. Nearly. He stepped closer to the painting, finding himself reaching out to touch and drawing his hand back, shocked at his uncouth behavior. Harry may have been raised by philistines, but he'd been to enough galleries and museums by now to know that one doesn't touch the paintings. However, as he stepped away, the paint seemed to flicker and... hum? A subaural sussuration, and then Malfoy's left hand, draped and framing his sinful arse, twitched ever so slightly. Harry realized the painting had gone hyperreal - not moving per se, but so realistic it invited touch. He tentatively reached out, cursing his credulity. Surely he would just end up brushing his fingers against oil paint. 

If his hand was irresistibly drawn toward that arse, Malfoy had no one to blame but himself for posing for such a thing. His hand moved a final, crucial millimeter closer to the canvas and he gasped. The painting was indeed enchanted to allow the viewer to touch the subject. He allowed his hand to caress the curve of one smooth cheek, to feel the minute shift as though the subject was responding. His cock responded almost painfully quickly and a low moan escaped him. He just had time to slide the edge of one finger down the cleft of that incredible bum before his attention was thrown. Someone behind him softly cleared their throat. Harry's face burned and he steeled himself. Which of his friends was going to add this to their laundry list of "evidence" that Harry carried a torch for that fucking git? 

Reluctantly, he turned to find said git looking straight at him, the same seductive smirk all over his damnably handsome face. 

"If you want to touch my arse, Potter, all you have to do is ask nicely."

"Malfoy," he said after a beat, hoping his voice sounded steady and cool. "That's a new technique. I haven't seen that before." 

"Mmm," Malfoy replied noncommitally. "It was my idea, actually. Dean and I worked on the charms together. Do you like it?"

Harry felt another stupid blush rising. "I - I was surprised - that is, yes, it's very interesting." 

"And the subject? How did that... affect your enjoyment?" His eyes slid down to Harry's still rampant erection. Harry cursed his size - even quiescent, it made a noticable bump in his trousers. When hard, it was kind of unmistakable.

He saw Malfoy's smirk broadening to sheer malevolent enjoyment and decided to call it. "Good to see you," he winced at the double-entendre, "But I'd best be off." 

"If you'd like to purchase it, Dean's agent is near the canapes. Not sure if it's still available, though - it's proved quite captivating to more than one viewer," Malfoy drawled, drawing closer to Harry. 

"Ah. Well." Harry's mood did an about-face. He didn't like being cornered and he didn't like the confident insinuation in Malfoy's voice. It may not have been totally delusional, but that didn't allow Malfoy to make him a joke. "You know, I do rather think I'd like to bring it home. It has a certain charm - I think it might be that so far it hasn't uttered a single word."

Malfoy's eyes lit up at this. He sauntered ever closer. "There are lots of ways to shut me up, Potter," he said, sidling right up to Harry and sliding his hand up to the nape of Harry's neck.

"Oh yeah?" Harry retorted, somewhat weakly. 

"Yeah," Malfoy said as he pulled Harry's lips to his and slid his tongue between them. Harry felt all his ridiculous denial and drummed-up objections melt away like ice mice in a boiling cauldron. He reached around Malfoy's slim torso to that incandescent arse and groped it like there was nothing to lose.

Harry pulled his mouth away, resting his forehead against Malfoy's and said, "I could take you both home." 

"You've got excellent taste, Potter. I've always said."


End file.
